


Five Times Crane Wasn't Where Abbie Left Him and One Time He Was

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie can only assume that the buddy system was invented after 1781.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Crane Wasn't Where Abbie Left Him and One Time He Was

**Author's Note:**

> So this is like, months too late? But whatever, Sleepy Hollow will return at some point.
> 
> A special thanks to Delta for messing with my flights and leaving me in airports for crazy amount of time, thus giving me the push to actually write something. And to thatdamneddame for the beta. As usual, you're the best.
> 
> If you catch any typos, horrifying errors, etc., let me know.

There’s something to be said for how quickly Crane has settled in to the twenty-first century. His obstinate stance against paying for water and his determination to avoid denim at all costs aside, he’s mastered GPS, has rudimentary internet skills, and has developed hilarious opinions about flip phones and the propensity of the American public to pay obscene amounts for increasingly ridiculous foods. Cronuts? Ramen burgers? Wheatgrass smoothies? The horrified look on Crane’s face is enough to get Abbie through some rough times.

That said, if Crane keeps wandering off when Abbie tells him to stay put, one of these days she’s going to let him stay lost and find his own way home.

 

1.  
Abbie almost regrets the day she introduced Crane to junk food. Almost, because it’s hilarious to watch him struggle with the knowledge of how unhealthy for him these foods are and how much he likes the taste of the processed icing and fake sprinkles on cosmic brownies, but it also means that when he runs out, he asks probing questions like where they came from and what other options there are.

Jenny is no help, telling him about genetically altered corn and free-range chickens and having him ask questions that Abbie can’t answer and doesn’t really want to think about. Like, what are the long-term effects of chemicals in the water? She has enough problems with actual evil to worry about what cancerous materials might be in her delicious Cheetos.

Which leads them here: Wal-Mart. Where strong-willed people go to die and grown-ass men wander off.

 

“The oatmeal cream pies are always a good choice—just enough oatmeal to help you feel like you’re being healthy. But really, you definitely need to try—” The lack of response, positive or otherwise, is enough to make Abbie turn around. Crane never misses a chance to scoff at her idea of “healthy.” 

Looking around the empty aisle where Crane had been cooing over the curlicues on Little Debbie cakes seconds before, Abbie wonders if she needs to invest in one of those child leashes for when she takes Crane new places. Maybe she could sew some of those “Call if lost” patches onto his clothes. That would be about as helpful.

 

She takes a slow lap of the grocery section. No Crane, although she does have an awkward encounter with Luke as he stares contemplatively at the day old pastry rack. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the cookies he’s almost crushed in his hand are absolutely terrible. Too much icing and not enough substance. 

When it looks like he’s going to come over, Abbie speed walks away from that non-conversation, hoping that Crane will pop out from some aisle with his usual impeccable sense of timing and deter Luke from following her throughout the store.

 

Crane isn’t in home goods either, or the auto section. Abbie stares dubiously at the men’s clothing section before deciding that nothing there would interest Crane. He hadn’t responded well to skinny jeans and she doubts cargo pants would be any better.

The intimates section gets a second thought, but if Crane has wandered in there, he’s on his own. She isn’t paid enough to explain the purpose of thongs or why undergarments only have three hooks on them now. Heaven help him if he’s stumbled into the makeup area. 

After scouring the toy section and wandering around produce again, discouraging no less than six employees from asking her if she needs help finding anything—the irony almost kills her—Abbie finds Crane in the cards and crafts section, sniffling discreetly over the Hallmark cards. The noise he makes when she leans against him and asks, “What are you doing?” is extremely gratifying. He looks a bit like a startled bird.

“Ah, yes, Lieutenant, I’m glad you found me—”

Abbie thinks fondly of the days when she only had to chase down people in the usual manner: with sirens and a gun. “Crane, what have I told you about just wandering off?”

“Yes, yes, not to do it, but forgive me, it looked like you were going to wax on about ‘oatmeal pies’ and ‘Twinkles’ for a while longer and I got…distracted.” 

She sighs. “Twinkies. They’re called—actually, no, never mind. We’re here because you wanted, and I quote, ‘a wider selection of snacks other than galactic brownies.’ Trust me—Wal-Mart is not my favorite place to be. If you wanted to go you could have just said.”

“It’s not that, Lieutenant, I just saw a man holding a flamingo, an actual flamingo! Or so I thought, clearly a live flamingo would not be so docile while being so manhandled, but in any case, I, well, followed him, to be honest…” At this point Abbie stops listening. Crane is holding a bereavement card. _Sorry for your loss_ in glossy, silver calligraphy. She wants to say something, anything, but discretion is the better part of valor and Abbie remembers how it felt losing her parents and then Jenny, and so she bites her tongue against the platitudes that want to spill out. Just lets him ramble to a stop and then asks if he wants to get out of here. 

While he postulates the layout of the store tricking people into wandering around so they shop more, she leads them out and makes a mental note to take him for ice cream after work. Maybe the diner will have some apple pie on special today.

 

2.  
There are three gas stations in Sleepy Hollow. Well, there are more, but there are only three that people ever talk about. 

There’s the clean one on Main that has terrible coffee and slightly higher than average gas prices; the mom-and-pop one off Spruce that does to-die-for muffins and saltwater taffy but you pay through the nose for gas; and then there’s the extremely sketchy one on Rodeo that has flickering street lamps, the majority of the drug traffic in town, patchy cell service, and sludge-like coffee but the cheapest gas in town. Also, the best damn taquitos that Abbie has had since a deputy training conference in Austin, Texas.

When Abbie’s alone, she goes to the third. She has her gun and most of the kids who cause trouble in the area know her and, more important, know not to mess with her. Usually, she fills up, chats with Steve about the latest episode of The Voice, and walks out with taquitos so good she’s almost concerned there’s a little something extra in it.

If she has Crane or a civilian in the car, she suffers through terrible coffee and the convenience of Main Street. Except tonight, it’s late and she’s hungry and the gas light is on, so in a moment of weakness she pulls off Rodeo and only remembers Crane is in the car when he sucks in a sharp breath, taking in the dim lighting and the graffitied brick buildings, the kids hanging out on the corner and the police car coming down the street.

Abbie holds back a sigh. “You can stay in the car? I’ll be right back.”

Crane mumbles an affirmative and Abbie wonders if she’ll be returning to another Crane and Yolanda conversation about the power of heart and true love. Hopefully not, NorthStar charges by the minute for those heart-to-hearts.

 

The fluorescent lights are harsh after driving in the dark, but “Fresh” is blinking in neon over the taquitos and it feels like a sign that things are finally going to ease up. Bypassing the coffee maker that sounds like it’s on its last legs, Abbie calls out a greeting to Steve and heads to the heating rack in the back where it smells like heaven and looks like a heart attack on a roller. 

Steve laughs when she meets him at the register clutching a bag full of taquitos. “Rough day, Lieutenant Mills?”

“Getting better,” Abbie sighs, holding the food aloft before leaning her weight against the counter and pulling a serious face. “Did you watch?”

“What kind of question is that, ‘Did I watch?’?” Steve scoffs. “Like I do anything Tuesday nights.”

The conversation that follows makes Abbie extremely glad that no one really comes in after seven, because she’s not sure who coos louder over Adam Levine sitting on Blake Shelton’s lap, her or Steve.

 

It takes Abbie longer than it should to grow suspicious that Crane has neither called her nor come in to see what’s taking so long. Crane is a man of many things—like ratty clothes and strict notions of chivalry—but a patient man he is not. Which is why when she heads back out, she’s not actually surprised to see that her passenger door is open and Crane is nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it, Crane. A freaking leash, I swear.” Abbie stashes the food and carefully shuts the door. She pulls her gun, keeps low by her side—last week they’d been harassed by some golem-esque thing. It pays to be careful now, might be something worth worrying about or it might just be Crane being a pain in the ass—and calls out, “Crane?”

There’s some scuffling from around the building, and Abbie thinks about the kids who usually hang in this area. They’re mostly harmless, but...

Rounding the corner, she sees Crane, smiling and clapping, as some kids show off their parkour skills. They’re actually not bad.

She puts her gun away and when she feels like she can speak without a bite in her voice, Abbie calls out, “Again, Crane? What happened to staying in the car, huh?”

Crane turns and waves her over, beaming. “You were taking entirely too long, and these children are most impressive, Lieutenant Mills. Have you seen them? It’s apparently called ‘parkour’?”

Smiling at the confusion in his voice, Abbie calls out to one of the kids. “Tommy, do that one with the flip, you know which one, you showed me last week.”

He grins, “Lady Cop,” and does some sort of running flip off the wall that makes Abbie laugh and clap and Crane breathe out, “My Lord!”

Walking back to the car, Abbie eyes Crane and says, “Definitely getting you a leash.”

 

3.  
Abbie hates the zoo. It reminds her of being in foster care, how one family would take her and Jenny every weekend in the fall because it was cheap and kept them out of trouble. They’d stare at the tigers pacing back and forth and wonder if they would ever be free and happy. (The incident in the woods happens shortly after and Abbie thinks briefly that she should have known it couldn’t last.)

Crane, on the other hand loves it. Abbie was sure that he’d have things to say on the cruelty to animals and the present generation’s love of caging things, but no, he grinned helplessly over the tiny, tiny deer and stared in awe at the elephants. He saved the musings on ethics for the car ride home, and then only briefly, until he gave in and asked if she saw the dik-dik from where she had been standing, since she was so short and it was so very tiny.

 

They’re back a few weeks later, with strict promises from Crane not to harass the employees about how one goes about purchasing endangered species and whether or not they have thoughts on how caging animals plays into Darwinism. Abbie regrets ever letting him have access to Wikipedia.

It’s one of the last nice days of fall, the air crisp and the sky painfully blue, and Crane has yet to cause a scene. (The fact that they’ve been temporarily banned from the Tarrytown Museum of Colonial History is embarrassing. Irving finds it especially hilarious.) Watching him stare rapt at the penguins, Abbie feels like maybe the zoo isn’t so bad. 

Since she’s not actually having a terrible time, ice cream seems like a good way to keep her good mood going. Plus, she really wants to see Crane’s expression at “space ice cream” and the Dippin’ Dots cart is right there. Which, of course, is when Crane decides to forget the long talk they’d had the other day about letting your partner know when you were going to go haring off on your own. When she returns to the penguin exhibit, Crane is gone.

Crane has a cell phone for this reason (and not even a flip phone, now, since he complained for days), but as she listens to it ring out, she’d bet good money that it’s sitting in the cup holder of her car. 

 

For someone ginormously tall and dressed in colonial garb, Crane blends in very well when he wants to. It’s incredibly frustrating and he never does it when it would actually be helpful.

None of the zoo staff in the area noticed him, which leaves Abbie with the option of wandering around looking for him or calling for him on the zoo intercoms like he’s a misplaced six-year-old. The latter is so very tempting, if it wouldn’t involve flashing her badge or insinuating that Crane is unsafe to be on his own, until she spots the sign for giraffe feeding and remembers Crane’s stunned silence when he first saw them. He marveled over their purple tongues and their spindly legs and almost ventured down the path of “How do they…” before Abbie headed him off. She’s not explaining how giraffes mate to a grown man; that’s what Animal Planet is for. Or Wikipedia.

Abbie bets herself another ice cream that she’ll find him there. Crane will get nothing, other than another lecture about the buddy system. Maybe negative reinforcement will remind him to let her know if/when he’s going to go exploring.

When Abbie finally finds the giraffes again, she’s gratified to see how well she can anticipate Crane. She doesn’t sneak up behind him, doesn’t want to ruin whatever peace he’s found by offering an animal that towers over him a piece of lettuce. There’s a lack of tension in his shoulders that Abbie doesn’t want to see back quite yet. 

Plus, this means she gets another ice cream and Crane can pout all he wants; behavioral conditioning is a go.

 

4.  
Three days after a heinously public shootout with something undead and very determined to make Sleepy Hollow its new base and after an awkward conversation in which she’s basically ordered to hide her face and Crane’s very existence for a little while, Irving calls Abbie down to the precinct with orders that Crane is to tag along. She’s not hopeful that it will be a conversation involving some form of the words “well done” or “thanks for saving our asses.” 

 

The car ride there is a mild form of torture as Crane fiddles with the radio, lingering on each station for 5 seconds before subjecting her to static as he tries to find the next station. Upstate New York is not blessed with a plethora of radio options.

In an attempt to save her sanity, Abbie desperately turns the radio off entirely and says, “Whatever Irving says, no matter how much you disagree, please for the love of God, just smile and nod.”

“Even if he’s blatantly simplifying the matter? Surely protecting the town from evil is worth any unfortunate press?” Crane sounds vaguely confused. 

“Apparently property damage has higher value to the public eye than their immortal soul, so let’s cut Irving a break, shall we?” Abbie gives Crane a look she hopes comes across more stern and less pleading. “All I want is to get in there, let him say his piece, and get out without causing anymore incidents.”

Crane sighs. “I’m sure I can bite my tongue for the duration.” 

She refrains from fist pumping, but it’s a near thing.

 

In the best case scenario, Crane would accompany her to share the weight of Irving’s “I’m not mad, I’m just—no wait, I am mad” voice, but Irving’s cutting look to Crane makes it clear that it’s not his turn to be reamed out. It’s her lucky day.

“Stay,” Abbie says firmly, pointing at her desk, maintaining eye contact, and using her stern voice, the one he’s come to respond to first and ask questions about later.

Crane raises an eyebrow. “Lieutenant, I am neither a child nor a wayward pet. I am perfectly capable of keeping myself out of trouble.” 

She looks at him skeptically, remembering the zoo. And Wal-Mart. And the time she lost him in the woods. From his flush, it’s all coming back to him now. 

“Yes, fine, go have your chat. I’ll just sit here patiently waiting my own dressing down, shall I?”

With one last wary glance at Crane and the universally understood “I’m watching you gesture,” Abbie leaves Crane behind and goes to suffer (mostly) silently through Irving’s rant.

 

Irving sets her free twenty painful minutes later, armed with notes on a phone tree and other options to grenade launchers (Jenny knew a guy who knew a girl, what?) , and she’s fully prepared to find Crane building a Post-It note tower or a paperclip chain, making his boredom as destructive on her office supplies as he knows how. Instead, her desk is empty and her bag is now considerately tucked into the foot well, out of sight from anyone wandering the bullpen.

She turns to the room at large and asks, “Anyone see where Crane went?” not really expecting a helpful response. 

Luke looks up and smiles grimly, more a baring of teeth, really. “Your circus freak wander off?” 

Whatever look settles on her face, it makes him swallow heavily. One of the interns pipes up instead. “Saw him heading down past the kitchen, Lieutenant Mills. Sorry, I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to leave…”

Abbie nods, because there’s not much else she can do to a shamefaced intern who looks fit to cry. The weird looks and muttering that follow her out as she walks down the hall are easy to ignore now. It’s hard to explain that she’s worried he’s gone off on some self-sacrificing mission for his true love. Better they assume she’s an overbearing hard ass. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

But there’s no outside exit past the kitchen, not one that Crane would have a key for or one that wouldn’t set off an alarm, and Abbie’s starting to think the worst. 

Crossing off the interrogation rooms and holding cells—blank walls have no interest for Crane—all that Abbie is left with is the evidence room, and no way would any of the officers give Crane free reign in there. And then she remembers that it’s ten p.m. and Gladys always, always, pulls the weeknight evidence room shifts and she’s known Abbie since she was young and bitter and still an angst ridden punk, before Corbin had smoothed her edges with pie and ice cream and endless patience. Gladys knows all kinds of things about Abbie that she would happily share with Crane.

When she hears Crane’s laugh booming around the corner, Abbie knows she’s too late. At least she gets the satisfaction of seeing Crane’s face blanch when she tells him that Irving wants to talk to him alone. He looks like he’d rather face Moloch head on, weaponless, until Gladys calls out, “You come see me again, young man. I have plenty more stories where that one came from!” and then he mostly looks like Christmas came early. 

When she can’t hear his footsteps down the hall anymore, Abbie turns to Gladys and prepares to promise something outrageous and potentially time consuming to keep her embarrassing rookie stories buried in the ground. She ends up pledging three pans of brownies and venti caramel macchiatos for the next week, but at least Crane will never hear of the failed the pie-eating contest.

 

5.  
It’s been a long week. Jenny has been surly and Irving has been unreasonably skeptical—like Abbie doesn’t have moments when she wakes up at three a.m. and wonders what the fuck she’s doing and if it’s all a dream; if she’s going to find out that Crane isn’t real and Jenny still hates her. In her opinion, this calls for a night in with pizza and movies to catch Crane up on all the ridiculous shit he missed while he was sleeping. Like While You Were Sleeping, for example. 

With a deep dish, a regular crust, and a thin crust in the passenger seat, Abbie heads out to Corbin’s cabin and thinks about what Crane’s reaction to pizza that looks more like pie might be—actually, his reaction to pizza in general. She hopes he’s suitably horrified to the idea of pineapple on pizza and understands that there can’t actually be too much cheese. One weekend, apocalypse pending, she wants to take him and Jenny to this place in Upstate that does grilled pizza with whole cloves of garlic and tastes like magic. She’s pretty sure that Jenny will complain about smelling like garlic and then eat a whole pizza herself.

Granted, these plans hinge on surviving whatever comes their way, so Abbie has her doubts this will ever happen. But a girl can dream, right?

 

When she pulls up in front of the cabin, the front door is hanging on one hinge and one of the kitchen chairs is upended on the porch.

Abbie gets out of the door with her gun drawn. She calls for Crane and when there’s no response, she thumbs off the safety and makes her way closer to the cabin. Things have been pretty quiet lately and they all should have known better to think they could breathe easy.

 

It’s empty inside. The kitchen table is on its side and the TV has a bullet hole in it. There’s no note or evidence left behind, but on the plus side, there’s no blood either. 

She bites her lip on a prayer when her phone rings. When the caller ID shows Jenny’s scowling face, Abbie closes her eyes. She’d been hoping that for once Crane might have had his cell on him. “What?” she barks out and starts poking around the mess made of the cabin.

“Damn it,” Jenny breathes out. “I’m too late?” 

“What do you know?”

Jenny sighs. “A contact of mine heard word that something weird was going down. Ran across some German guys looking for some serious firepower and overheard them talking about a tall dude in a cabin out in the woods. He gave me a heads up…although sounds like not soon enough?”

“Yeah, they dragged him out of Corbin’s cabin, not sure how long ago. Any idea where they might have taken him?”

There’s a long silence before, “Not a lot of empty places left in town. Maybe the old steel mill? I know the cops don’t have much of a presence out there anymore. Might be a place to start. I’m on the other side of town, but I can meet you there.”

“Please,” Abbie gets out, before she huffs a laugh and scrubs a hand over her face. “You ‘know,’ huh? Irving let that slip that in one of your chats?”

“Excuse me?” Jenny splutters for a second. “I definitely don’t know what you’re talking about—”

It feels good to have this with Jenny, even with Crane’s kidnapping looming over their heads. It gives her hope that they can still salvage their relationship. “Yeah, yeah. Like I didn’t see that smile on your face leaving his office last week. But really, thanks. I’ll check it out. Let me know if you hear anything else?”

Jenny’s scoff and immediate “Of course,” is expected, as is her “See you soon,” but Abbie is pretty sure she isn’t meant to hear the quiet be careful that comes right before Jenny hangs up. 

Abbie stares at the phone, marveling at how they’ve gone from hating each other and never talking to actually being OK with each other and fighting the good fight against the forces of evil, before reminding herself that she really does need to find Crane. 

 

The steel mill is really creepy. And abandoned. There isn’t a security guard, the wind howls through cracked windows, and it smells like rat piss and garbage. 

Wandering around blindly isn’t exactly Abbie’s ideal plan, but she can’t wait until Jenny gets here, not when she doesn’t know if Crane is being tortured or is already dead, so it’ll do in a pinch. At least luck is on her side this time and she finds the Hessians before they realize she’s there. She hears them leaving, one of them calling shotgun, like they don’t have someone strung up somewhere. It’s not an especially comforting sign.

However, it takes a lot not to laugh when she finds Crane ten minutes later and he’s hanging from one of the steel support bars, feet barely touching the ground, looking exceedingly disgruntled.

She holsters her gun and smiles up at him. “How’s it hanging?”

“Ah, yes, Lieutenant, very funny. If you could be so kind—” trying to indicate with his feet, “—to get me down? My circulation would thank you.”

She doesn’t take a picture, but only because she’s still in kicking range and he looks very determined.

 

(Jenny shows up before she has Crane entirely freed. She does the decent thing and takes a picture; Abbie looks forward to getting that framed. 

By the time Crane is freed and they’re safely in her apartment, the pizza, although cold by this point, is still delicious, and Crane’s confusion by deep-dish pizza is the best outcome Abbie could have hoped for.)

 

+1.  
There are some things Crane hates about the twenty-first century. He’s not quiet about them, either. The steady decline of the English language. Starbucks (although he definitely will never say no to a frappuccino). The current political system. Siri.

There are, however, some things he loves. Coffee. The ease of accessing information. Yolanda at NorthStar. Netflix. Still, Abbie regrets telling him about Wikipedia when she wakes up to Crane still in yesterday’s clothes, hunched over her laptop, where she left him last night, like it will save his life, eyes glazed and red, yawning every seven seconds. Abbie times him for three minutes before he even realizes she’s there.

When he realizes that its morning and he’s become the very study about the computer habits of teenagers that he read and bemoaned last week, the look on his face: priceless.

 

(“Crane—what? Have you been up all night?” 

“Hm, yes. Did you know giraffes only have seven vertebrae? And that you can get to Hitler in—” Crane yawns so long that Abbie is truly concerned about the state of his jaw, “—six clicks or less?”

“Yes, Crane, I did know that. Now please, sleep. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

And when Crane sort of slumps in his seat, mumbling, “I suppose some sleep would not be amiss,” Abbie just sighs and gets him a pillow. She did not sign up for drool on her keyboard.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
